The Writing on the Wall
by airyelle
Summary: Hermione and Ron have gone missing. When Harry finds them, Hermione is holed up and won't speak with anyone. What's wrong, and does Harry really want to know? HHR...COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

Harry Potter glanced up at a group of giggling fourth-year girls. They were gathered under a piece of mistletoe which had unceremoniously locked an unfortunate pair under it until they kissed. Harry found himself glad that the circle tightened and he didn't have to see the things he was missing…friends and love.

He was, in fact, mildly surprised. Unlike previous years, Christmas and the after-effects had not gradually seeped in until the week before Christmas when the feeling suddenly knocked him flat. No, this year it had crept rather silently and slowly until announcing itself somewhat rudely. Just an interruption in a scheduale that Harry was, for some reason, unwilling to break.

Harry had honestly forgotten about Christmas until that moment, when it all crashed into him, paralyzing him for a moment. He hadn't felt much like Christmas - not without Ron and Hermione. Because it's relatively difficult to enjoy the holidays when your two best friends were missing.

About a week and a half before Christmas break, Hermione had been called from Herbology class. Hermione was never in trouble, so this was undoubtedly good. _She's probably gone and won an award_, Harry thought, seeing his thoughts mirrored on most of his classmates' faces.

But she hadn't come back. Her things were gone, she was gone, and it left a hole in Harry's chest wherever he went. And then, the day after Hermione's confirmed disappearance, Ron left too. Without a trace. When Harry woke up that morning, Ron's trunk was gone and his bed was made. Harry's watch said 8:37 AM. Ron _never_ got up that early. _Never_.

Until the winter break, a blind panic filled Harry wherever he went. Ron and Hermione could have been lured out of the castle by Voldemort – they might both be dead, or it might be trap to lure _him_ out of the castle…

There were "what if's" buzzing around his head like a mosquito that he desperately wanted to swat, but couldn't see. Harry remained detached and kept to himself for the remainder of classes.

The first day of break saw Harry up before the sun; his trunk levitated beside him and a hundred feet up by daybreak. He knew where he had to go – it was the one clear thought he'd had all week.

_The Burrow._

Harry had never welcomed the sight of the Burrow as much as he did that afternoon, when he finally landed softly in front of the garage where the Ford Anglia had resided. He smiled slightly, the panic receding a bit. He knew that the Weasley's would help him. He wasn't alone. Not this time.

Harry let himself in through the side door, seeing at once Ron's muddy sneakers, which had obviously been thrown carelessly to the ground. To the side were Hermione's sneakers which were considerably less muddy and tucked away neatly at the edge of the hallway. Harry grinned broadly, pure relief sinking from his shoulders to ankles. His head however, was torn between the latter and anger. Uncertainly, Harry proceeded to the kitchen where Ron, the twins and Ginny were sitting, conversing with their mother and father in hushed tones.

Harry edged in awkwardly, unsure of what to do. He stood half-hidden in shadows until Mrs. Weasley turned and noticed him.

"Harry, dear!" she cried. "Glad you got the owl!" She conjured up a chair and motioned for him to sit on it.

"Er…I didn't get an owl, Mrs. Weasley. I came because both Ron and Hermione were suddenly gone, and this was the first place I thought of to come to."

Mrs. Weasley glared at Ron. "Ronald, you should've told him! Leaving the poor dear, not knowing anything. Having to take matters into his own hands! It could've been a trap!"

Ron started. "Mum! You didn't exactly give me much time to tell him!" he exclaimed, looking down the table at her. Harry looked down the table too.

"Er," he said, "where's Hermione?"

They all avoided his gaze.

Finally Mrs. Weasley spoke. "She's … in her room," she said carefully.

Harry let out a breath. "Oh, so I can see her then?" he asked.

Ron finally addressed him. "Harry, something happened. We don't know what. McGonagall told us that Hermione'll tell us when she was ready. Mum brought me home because no one could get to her and I brought Ginny with me. None of us have been able to get in her room," Ron said sadly.

Harry looked at him blankly, then got up stiffly from the table. He started down the hallway towards the staircase, when he realized that we wasn't entirely certain of where to go. He stood there wondering where he should start.

Ron's voice floated down the hallway. "Fred and George's room."

Harry nodded once, though nobody could see him, and he started for the stairs. He walked up them slowly, wondering why it had taken them so long to call him…he went up, thinking. _They should know that I'll be able to get her out. That'll take no time at all. She trusts me. Maybe more than Ron. I'll get her out…but do I want to know why she's in there in the first place? _Maybe not.

He had reached the landing, and Hermione's door was fast approaching. He arrived at the door, and knocked softly.

"Hermione?"

"Go away," came a muffled voice.

_She probably thinks I'm Ron. _"Hermione, it's me, Harry. It's okay, you can come out now," he said soothingly.

"Go. Away. Right. Now. Before. I. Hex. You."

Harry's cockiness disappeared in an instant, only to be replaced with the stirrings of panic.

"Wouldn't you have to come out to hex me? Come out, Hermione, please. Or, let me in, whichever you prefer. I don't care."

Silence. Harry could only hear a few muffled spatters. Hermione was crying. The panic went up a notch. Harry was worried – he didn't know what to do. His knees began to give out, and he sat before he fell down. On the ground, he did the first thing that came to mind: he began to talk to her.

He told her about the Quidditch match that they'd lost, because McLaggen had to go in for Ron, as he was gone. He told her about a disastrous attempt at a Transfiguration spell that had left him short one ear and in the Hospital Wing. He told her all the homework she's missed.

Hermione didn't reply to any of this. Harry hadn't really expected her to. He talked to her as one might talk to himself. It was strange, but also oddly relieving. The panic receded a bit. He could hear Hermione's breathing going back to a regular pace as he talked. He was running out of things to talk about…

Harry returned to Hermione's door every day for at least an hour. It was always the same. She'd tell him she'd hex him if he kept talking, he ignored her, she left him with the same stony silence and he'd talk. He'd talk about what the Weasleys were doing, what he had done that day, what it was like outside. Finally, she stopped objecting to him presence and he just launched right into speech.

During the first five days, Harry had often wondered how Hermione went to the bathroom. Hermione was naturally a very hygienic person…he highly doubted that she had something of a chamber pot in her room. No, he decided, that wasn't it.

His suspicions were confirmed the next day, as once when they were all downstairs, he had heard the patter of quick light footfalls down the hallway. The Burrow was a structure that, by means of the laws of gravity, should not have been anywhere but crumpled in a heap on the ground. Sound traveled easily in it. For once, Harry was glad of that.

Later that afternoon, the Weasleys left to go for a walk…the weather was milder and it was quite enjoyable. Harry, however, declined, saying that he had a headache, and should probably rest.

Once everyone was out the door, Harry went up the stairs to tell Hermione that they had gone away. He told that he'd be downstairs if she needed him. Then, he crept away from the door. Using _Wingardium Leviosa_, he sent several objects down the stairs, imitating his footsteps. He carefully unfolded his Invisibility Cloak, and threw it over himself. And he waited.

It didn't take very long. He knew that she took this as a perfect opportunity to go to the bathroom. That's what he had hoped for.

Hermione opened the door tentatively. Though Harry couldn't see most of her face because of the shadows, he could tell that she wasn't well. She was rail thin and her hair lay limp on her head. All in all, it took most of Harry's self-control not to catch his breath when he saw his friend in such distress. He knew immediately that he _had_ to find out what was wrong. She needed him. He needed _her_.

When Harry heard the 'click' of the bathroom door, he tiptoed into her room. He was careful to remember the floorboards that creaked when you stood on them so that Hermione wouldn't suspect anything. Shivering slightly, he entered the room.

The first thing that Harry noticed was that the room was bare. The room, as he recalled, had once been full to bursting with the twins' merchandise for their store. Cardboard boxes had filled every inch of space that the room had to offer, and objects were _everywhere._

But now the room was empty. There was a steel bed-frame and a worn mattress. A duvet cover was bunched up at the end of the bed. Hermione's trunk was tucked neatly in a corner. Had Harry not known better, he would have guessed that there was nothing wrong. Except for one thing.

As his eyes became accustomed to the darkness of the unlit room, they widened very suddenly. He saw, very faintly, that the room was far from empty.

Suddenly, Harry hugged the cloak tighter around himself. Not because of cold or of fear of being caught. No, it was _what was on the walls._


	2. Chapter 2

Before Harry could truly process what was on the walls, he felt himself becoming airborne.

_Uh oh. _Harry looked down, seeing that in his concentration on the walls, he had let the cloak slip.

He sighed, and let Hermione complete the spell. She threw him from the room, slamming him into the wall beside the bathroom.

"STANDARD BOOK OF SPELLS, GRADE 7!" she screamed at him. Harry winced, remembering the lesson on levitating people. Hermione slammed the door shut, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks. Harry felt like yelling at her in frustration. He wanted to help her, and she was pushing him away. Was this because of all the times he'd pushed _her_ away? If it was, then it wasn't fair: Harry and been through a lot worse than Hermione had. She had no right to give him a lesson – not now, when she needed help.

Numbly, Harry heard the Weasleys returning, their happy voices carrying easily through the patch-work house. He slid down the wall, defeated. He was going to go hide in his room when he heard Ron pounding up the stairs. He knew it was Ron, because the sound was not unlike a stampede of elephants.

Ron hadn't been fooled by Harry's headache. He knew better and he knew that Harry was entitled to a chance of getting Hermione – he himself had tried many times.

Ron also believed that Harry could get to Hermione out, though he was envious of the ability, he cared for Hermione and wanted to know what was wrong.

"So, mate? What'd she say?" he asked, excited and afraid at the same time. He completely overlooked the glum façade that Harry wore – quite openly – on his face.

"She threw me out," he said dully. Ron looked aghast.

"No way!" he yelled in frustration. "Stupid girl!" ; which brought a sob from the other side of Hermione's door.

Harry gritted his teeth. "I'll get to her, Ron. If it's the last thing I do."

Harry had several unsuccessful attempts at drawing Hermione from her room. It was almost as if she'd locked herself in, instead of locking the others out. This idea caused Harry to read the _Standard Book of Spells, Grade 7_ in all its 600 paged glory. Harry sometimes wondered whether the lock on her door was just a clever ruse to get him reading the material. There were other times when he just wanted to saw through the door and take her in his arms (this thought scared him and he chose not to share it with Ron) and tell her that everything was okay.

He even tried climbing in through her window. Ron would give him a signal when he heard her going to the bathroom, and he'd climb in with the cloak. This, however, didn't work.

Ron is not the most intelligent person. So when he heard Ginny clumping around her room, he figured that Hermione was tiptoeing lightly over to the bathroom. He gave Harry the signal and Harry climbed up the wall.

The first obstacle: Hermione's window was closed. _Spectacular,_ Harry thought angrily. He tried to open in and actually managed it up a few inches when it came crashing back down on his fingers. Fleetingly, Harry saw a head of brown hair flash past. _Arrg!_ thought Harry.

By that time, an entire week of their Christmas break was gone, and Harry walked with the same blinding panic that had filled him to the brim before the break. He felt as though a light that had been inside of him had been put out, leaving his soul in an utter darkness that it had never experienced before. Her felt lonely and lost, and that was probably why he finally snapped.

Six days before they had to go back to Hogwarts, Harry was passing Hermione's door and slowed suddenly. He remembered all that he had read about in the _Standard Book of Spells, Grade 7,_ and he remembered a particular chapter on enchanted locks. The paragraph had basically talked about a spell that reminded Harry of the spell in front of Dumbledore's office. You said the magic word and _voila_! You could get in.

Harry tried every word that he thought might mean something to Hermione, her favorite things, places, people…nothing worked.

Finally, it a fit of frustration, Harry started to yell at her.

"HERMIONE! _I can't handle this anymore! _What is WRONG with you?? We all love you here – why can't you just come out and tell us what's wrong!? You might be forgetting that I have seen and experienced more horrific things than you can count! What do you want us to do? WE LOVE YOU AND WE JUST WANT WHAT'S BEST FOR YOU!!" Harry had to stop, gasping for air, his frustration coming of him in waves. He took a deep breath and started in again:

"What do you want us to _do_, Hermione? You just have to ask! Do you want us to call your parents?! Is that what you want -?" Harry stopped suddenly. The door had slid open, to reveal Hermione on the bed positively sobbing in anguish. Harry, for he had conjured up _lumos_, was looking around himself, horrified, at what he finally saw was on the walls.


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry for the wait, guys. Was really busy these past weeks…well here you go!**

**Disclaimer (sorry forgot it the first 2 chaps) : I do not own any of this except the plot. And for any of you who weren't entirely certain of that, I'd advise you to go stick your head in a toilet. Thank you. **

Harry felt a dull horror thudding in time with his heart. He revolved slightly, taking in, but not completely processing, what was on the walls. The door had closed itself and it was dark except for Harry's beam of light, which cast shadows on the walls, making what was on them seem even more frightening.

Harry conjured up a permanent _lumos_ and hung it from the ceiling, leaving him free to examine the walls. He walked right up to one an touched it, almost half-expecting what was on them to come off and leave scars of revulsion on his skin. The walls, however, were only cold and slightly damp. His mind finally began to register some of the things on the walls, and it scared him. If these were the things that were coming out of Hermione, then the battle was not going so well. He turned to Hermione.

Humans have several instincts. One is to duck when someone yells "DUCK!" Another is that when they are worried to death about they care about very much, then Humans are prone to hugging them very closely, telling them that everything will be alright.

This was the only explanation that Harry could come with for what he did. He dashed over to Hermione, grabbed her and pressed her to him, telling her that everything would alright. He hugged her tight, because that was the only thing that he could think of to do. It was what he somehow knew was the right thing to do.

He held her for what felt simultaneously like seconds, hours and days. All he could hear was Hermione sobbing –"No – no – no – no," and he felt tears dripping onto his lap.

How long they actually stayed like that, Harry could never say. However, after some time, Hermione drew away and hugged her knees to her, shaking slightly. She had yet to speak, but Harry wasn't pushing her. He wanted her to trust him, not throw him out again.

Harry exhaled and looked up at the wall the bed rested against. He hadn't examined this one, and when finally saw it he choked and clenched the bedcovers tightly in his hands.

**_I HATE VOLDEMORT_**

It was written in red and it glisten slightly on the wall. _Please say it's not her blood; please say it's not her blood, _Harry thought over and over again in his head. He looked over Hermione but didn't see any cuts. Harry breathed easier. Finally, he gathered a scrap of courage, knowing full well that he could be thrown out again and asked, "What's wrong?"

For a moment, Hermione just looked at him. Harry braced himself for his flight across the room and out into the hallway.

He opened his eyes a crack; Hermione was still only looking at him, but then she laid her wand on the bed beside her. A peace offering. _I'm unarmed_, her body language said. _I want you here with me_. Harry breathed a sigh of relief, but the fact that she wasn't answering was still at the surface of his mind. He dared not ask again, so he got off of the bed and went to the walls again. Every word pierced his heart, the hate radiating from the walls. Hermione was certainly apt at expressing herself. Finally, he had to look away because the lump in his throat was threatening to strangle him.

Harry paused. He didn't know what to do. He felt that asking her, pressing her, would be wrong and he didn't want to break the fragile thread of peace that strung them together.

Suddenly, something caught his eye. A photograph, if you could call it that. It was so tearstained that Harry had difficulty seeing the people inside it. It was a muggle photograph – the people weren't moving, making it even harder to depict it.

Almost before his brain had deciphered the photograph, his eyes flew to the _I HATE VOLDEMORT_ on the wall. A cold fist of iron gripped his heart, and squeezed until tears began to come. Harry wiped them away impatiently for Hermione's sake, and no more came, though he was still unable to speak. The photograph fluttered to the ground, freed from Harry's limp hand. His tears were now added to the face of the photo.

There was nothing else for it. He knew how Hermione felt. She was lucky that it had indeed been Harry who had managed to open her locked door. Ron would never have understood her pain. Nobody ever would.

No one except Harry. And he knew that it was his job to get her through it, though he knew that she'd, in the end, end up like him. Wishing for something that she could never have again.

"I…I get it. Hermione, I understand. I know…what's going on…in your head," Harry said awkwardly, pulling her into a hug. She responded immediately, burying her head into his shoulder, though no tears fell from her eyes. He knew that she was bottling up her emotions to spare him. He also knew that that would not do.

"Let it out, Hermione. Just…let it go…" he told her.

Suddenly her shoulders were shaking and she was sobbing. Harry felt rather proud: he had managed to comfort a girl without making an entire fool of himself. He thought that he was doing a good job of it too, because the last of Hermione's storm of tears were coming to a shaky end. Harry rocked her back and forth, knowing that Hermione was just glad that someone was with her. A person can only go so long without love or care. Hermione was long overdue.

Finally she had stopped shaking and Harry pulled away from her. For a moment, Hermione looked as though she might hang on to him, but she let go.

"Hermione," Harry said with concern, "you need to see some sunlight. Badly. Come on, let's go downstairs. I think the Weasleys are -" and there was a yell; "Be back soon Harry!" and the slam of a door.

"Gone," Harry finished. "Let's go."

With some persuasion and a little hesitation, Hermione allowed herself to be pulled up on her feet.

"It'll be okay," Harry whispered, entwining his fingers in hers. "Trust me. I know."

As he closed the door, the photograph moved with the draught. The glow disappeared until only a sliver of light remained, illuminating the smiling faces of Hermione's parents.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Jeez, if I still need one of these, then I don't know whether you should be reading fanfics…go back to the original books. Thank you.**

Harry led Hermione out on to the landing and let her take in the sunlight that reached her from there. He knew that she would have to go slow, not having seen light or the sun for some time. She would be in danger of blindness, and Harry wasn't about to be the cause of it. He'd put her through enough already.

Hermione welcomed the sunlight but turning her face up to the circular window and closing her eyes, letting her face soak it up, like a sunflower. _She looks so lovely_, Harry thought, watching her. _Oh, no. No you can't! You can't feel that way about her!!! _Harry yelled at himself. He knew that Hermione would eventually get together with Ron, and that would leave him and Ginny. He loved Ginny, but not the same way he loved Hermione…Oh, this was going to be complicated…

Hermione was gesturing for them to go down the stairs to the kitchen. Harry knew that she must be hungry. Unable to help himself, grinning and cursing inwardly at the same time, he grabbed her hand and led her down the stairs. They creaked as they went down, and Harry felt a little as though he was interrupting something private, though he knew that the Burrow was open to him as a second home. He shook his head and pulled Hermione down the last few steps.

She knew where the kitchen was, Harry knew, but Hermione didn't let go of his hand. She took as much comfort out of the entwined fingers as he did. Which scared him a little.

They entered the kitchen slowly, Hermione's right hand shielding her eyes. Finally she lifted her hand ever so slowly, taking in the kitchen, the food and Harry himself for the first time in a week and a half. She revolved slight, as Harry had done when he had first seen Hermione's walls. She shook her head several times, as tough shaking cobwebs from them. Then, she turned to Harry and offered him the first smile he'd seen from her.

The simple sincerity of the smile confused his senses and he smiled shyly back at her. Hermione turned slightly, let go of Harry's hand, then went to the fruit bowl and grabbed an apple. With her wand and without speaking she conjured up a stream of water and washed the apple, then dried it her shirt. Hermione looked at it for a moment, as though she was afraid that it might not be real. She looked back at Harry and he nodded, not smiling because he knew that she'd think he was laughing at her.

Harry watched her bite in to the apple, with surprisingly little ferocity for someone who hadn't really eaten in a week and a half. She ate that apple in less than thirty seconds and then started on a banana. _Leave it to Hermione to eat the healthiest things instead of stuffing herself with sweets_, Harry thought, smiling slightly. Hermione had never been the shortest of girls, but she was one of the smallest. She was also quite slim, making her entire appearance quite small.

Harry had never really seen Hermione stuff herself with sweets; she'd always eaten rather healthy things.

Harry started to flush; he was examining Hermione rather closely, though thankfully, she had not noticed. He shook his head. And tried to clear all thought of Hermione out of his head, though this wasn't working, because she was standing rather close to him after having finished the entire contents of the Weasley's large fruit basket.

After a moment, they heard voices coming up from the lane. Hermione looked at him, frightened. Harry knew that she didn't want them to know about her just yet.

"Come on," he whispered urgently. "Let's get you back in your room. Quick"

He dragged her up the stairs and gave her a quick hug before closing the door. Contrary to her old feelings, Hermione now looked scared of the darkness enveloping the small room.

"Don't worry, I'll come back for you," Harry assured her, giving her hand a quick squeeze. He could hear the door knob turning and laughter seeped in through the cracks in the walls. Swiftly, he closed the door, and dashing into his own room, wincing every time he heard a creak.

"Harry? Are you there, dear?" Mrs. Weasley called up to him.

Harry opened his door a little. "Yes! I'll be right down, Mrs. Weasley!"

As he passed Hermione's room, he heard stifled sobs. His heart ached and he wanted very badly to turn the doorknob and hug her. Shaking his head at himself, Harry turned away from the door, and bounded down the stairs as any 17-year-old boy might have.

When he entered the kitchen, every head looked up, searching for something. Finally, it was Ron who spoke.

"Well, mate?" he said hoarsely, "how'd you do. Anything…happen?"

Harry was hesitant, but not for long enough for any of the Weasley's to detect anything, even the ever cunning Fred and George.

"Er, no," said Harry, his very real embarrassment passing off as another kind of embarrassment for the Weasleys. "I didn't. I mean, nothing…happened."

Ron looked very disappointed, and Mrs. Weasley began to fret.

"I don't know what I shall do, Harry! I haven't been able to contact her parents; they won't answer any of our mail. Arthur's gone over there a few times, but he suspects that they are out on a vacation. They didn't leave any messages. There was nothing wrong with the house, so there mustn't have been a struggle, Arthur thinks. It was like they had just disappeared," she said, wringing her hands.

Harry realized that he needed to intervene before Mrs. Weasley got the Ministry involved. That would not do. He started to speak.

"Mrs. Weasley, just hang on, okay? I know that it doesn't look altogether bright at the moment, but I think that I'll be able to get to her soon." Harry swallowed. "I almost got her speaking today. Almost. It won't be long now." _I didn't lie_, Harry consoled himself. _I just left out the part about us spending the entire afternoon together. That's not a lie. It's not. _

Harry news did little to comfort Mrs. Weasley, but she did listen to what he had to say.

"Well, alright. I suppose that we'll give it another week," she relented, getting a smile from Harry.

Ron, however, was looking at Harry severely. It was as though he didn't believe that what Harry had said was true. Harry could almost hear the internal battle going on inside of Ron's head. "He's lying!" one side would be saying, while the other said, "Yeah, but he's never really lied to me before. He's probably not lying after all."

Harry sighed and knew that he couldn't tell Ron. Not yet, at least. Not until Hermione would tell them herself. And who knew when that would be?

Every afternoon, the Weasley's took a walk, staying out for an hour or two, leaving Harry and Hermione. The minute he heard them going back up the walk, he rushed to Hermione's room, hug her, then feed her. She was eating more and more every day, and Harry took this to be a good sign. She was eating almost as much a Ginny, and Ginny had a very healthy appetite.

Finally, four days before winter break was over, Hermione said her first word. Well, the first Harry had heard her say.

It was after she'd eaten a particularly good apple, and she looked up at Harry and said,

"Yum."

Harry had been so surprised that he nearly fell over off his chair, but his reflexes told him to grab on to the table, this action keeping him upright. Hermione smiled, as though talking was pleasurable for her.

After that, she spoke even more. She commented about the weather, asked him about homework, showed him something new. Harry had never felt happier in his life. A warmth spread through him whenever he heard her voice. Internally, he scolded himself, but he couldn't help but sit closer to her, grab her hand, smile at her…

Two days later after four hours of practising speech, Hermione and Harry decided that she should go down to breakfast. Harry had an idea that the Weasley's probably wouldn't ask any questions and would wait until she felt comfortable enough to tell them what was bothering her, herself. Thankfully, Harry was right, and when Hermione entered the kitchen that morning, she only received a few raised eyebrows, a few choked bites of cereal and a hug from Mrs. Weasley.

After she had eaten a hearty breakfast (which brought a few more raised eyebrows), she made a casual remark about the new shops in Hogsmeade. Ron was the first to enthusiastically answer her.

"Yeah, Hermione! This new shop is supposed to be great! Only you need -" Ron broke off rummaging around in a pile a parchment. "You just need," he said, continuing, "permission."

"From a teacher?" Hermione asked politely.

"No, no. Just get your mum and dad to sign here -" Ron said, showing her a dotted line.

Hermione stood frozen to the ground. Harry watched her, finding it painful. She slowly backed up out of the room, and then ran down the hallway. A few seconds later, they heard the slam of a door and muffled sobs.

Harry cast a gaze of utmost contempt to Ron, then dashed after Hermione.

Ron looked around, confused.

"What did I do wrong?" he asked. "Was it something I said?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: Forget it. You're most likely all aware of what I should be saying. If not, refer to the disclaimer for ch. 4**

**Note: PLEASE READ THIS! I have had some requests for Hermione to be "Mione". THAT IS NOT GOING TO HAPPEN. Hermione Granger is not a "Mione". She will never BE a "Mione". She is not this "Tiffany Amber" type person. She's just NOT. Thank you. **

Harry took the stairs two at a time, silently cursing Ron. Who knew how long it would take to get Hermione back to where she was earlier this morning. She couldn't go back to school, and then he wouldn't either, though Professor McGonagall would _drag_ him back to Hogwarts…he would be lost without Hermione.

He became more and more angry with Ron as he went. Finally when he reached the landing, he had to physically calm himself down before going into Hermione's room. He knew that he would have to start from the beginning.

Harry said _parents_ to the door, but nothing happened. He cursed himself this time. He would have to start at the _very_ beginning this time.

Crossly, Harry rattled the doorknob, and banged on the door. It opened. _She hadn't locked it after all_, Harry thought in wonder. He also noticed that Hermione's window was wide open and the room was cold, but the sunshine was pouring in, something they hadn't allowed her to do for fear of being caught.

And most surprising, was that Hermione wasn't on her bed sobbing. She wasn't even on her bed. Hermione was standing in front of the window, her arms crossed, staring out to the fields below. Her face was dry and she wasn't frowning.

Harry stood in the doorway, a lump in his throat. This was _his_ Hermione. The strong Hermione that he knew and loved. She wasn't weak, she was just dealing with what had happened to her parents. He felt even happier than when she had begun to talk. He knew that he could re-teach her to speak. That would not be a problem.

Then Hermione dealt him another surprise.

"I am not going to let people control me like that. I am stronger than they are…they won't understand and I can't teach them. But I know that I'll get through this…" she faltered. "Oh, Harry, please don't leave me. Don't let Voldemort kill you – you're the only person that will understand, the only one…" she said, her eyes filling with tears.

Harry, hiding it with his hand, smiled. Hermione was back! She was crying because of something that she had cried about before. She was strong at the same time. The tears that were falling down her face didn't mean weakness; it meant that was going to be alright.

Hermione turned slightly and then, a little hesitantly, walked back through the open door, Harry's fingers entwined with hers.

The Weasley's were sitting in silence when they re-entered the kitchen. Everyone gave a start, and Ron noted their entwined fingers with narrowed eyes. Much to Harry's relief he didn't seem angry. Perhaps this was because Ron knew that this was only a temporary arrangement. Harry didn't know exactly why, but he was glad that Ron wasn't angry. Then things could get a little messy.

Ginny was not exactly pleased with Harry and Hermione either, but she seemed alright. Harry was glad of this, too. He needed their support to get through this.

Harry looked tentatively at Hermione. He wasn't quite sure what they should do. He supposed that they would have to tell the Weasley's about Hermione's parents at one point, but Harry wasn't altogether excited about bringing that around. He half-hoped that the Weasley's had already guessed most of what had happened to Hermione's parents.

The other half of him was wiser and knew that Hermione need to get this out; needed to tell everyone the details of what had happened. Harry had unknowingly picked up one of Dumbledore's vital pieces of knowledge: once you have told your story to someone else, it's like your body has been de-toxicated, cleansed of impurities.

Harry got half of the halves. The Weasley's knew that her parents were either injured or dead, but they couldn't be sure. Harry knew that they had not seen the photograph, or Hermione's walls. They wouldn't need to see the latter until they had fully digested the story. They wouldn't want the walls thrown upon them like they were on Harry.

Hermione took a shuddering breath, calming herself, quieting herself before she began. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, prepared for the worst…

Harry smiled at Hermione. She was shovelling steak and kidney pie into her mouth as though this was to be her last meal. She had already eaten more than Ginny. This was no small feat.

Hermione's spell casting spells obviously hadn't been affected. She had conjured live fairies out of mid-air, who were dancing to violins that had mysteriously started playing out of the blue. Harry smiled to himself, then delved deeper into his mashed potatoes. Hermione had also helped with the cooking…she would be a very good cook when she was a mother.

He shook his head, clearing thoughts of her from his head. That lasted less than a minute, because he couldn't help but notice that Ron kept touching her arm, laughing with her, smiled sweetly at her. Harry felt a cold iron hand grip his heart and throat, squeezing until he couldn't breath and his blood pounded in his ears.

This was nothing like when he had loved Ginny. It had been a monster that had taken hold of his body; it was lust not love that he had had for her. His feelings towards Ginny were gone now, and this new, raw sensation of sadness and jealously gripped him with every smile exchanged between the two.

Harry was gripping the table, his knuckles snowy white, forcing himself not to steer Hermione clear of Ron.

_She told you first, she let you inside her room first, she opened up to you first,_ Harry reminded himself over and over. He didn't want to _punch_ Ron exactly, but he did want him to let Harry get a word in edge-wise.

Hermione turned to Harry. "You've been awfully quiet this evening Harry. Is there anything wrong?" Harry bit his tongue to keep himself from saying, _yes, it's Ron._ He shook his head and stuffed another bite of supper into his mouth before Hermione could ask him any more questions that he wanted to answer, _wished_ he could answer, but couldn't.

The violin suddenly picked up the tune of a waltz that Mrs. Weasley had been singing under her breath. Both hers and Hermione's eyes lit up when it started, and Harry had a sinking feeling in his stomach. _She's going to ask him to dance, she's going to ask him to dance_, he thought, distraught.

"Harry," a voice said. Harry gave a jump. _Hermione?_

No. It was Ginny. "Would you like to dance?" Harry started to answer, but Hermione gave Ginny a look that Harry couldn't quite decipher.

"Er, sorry Gin. He's already dancing with me." Ron sputtered, a chunk of meat lodged in his throat, coughing on his potatoes.

"What about me?" he spluttered.

"_You're_ eating," Hermione pointed out primly. Ron scowled.

"Come on, Harry, dance with me," she said, pulling him off his chair. Absently, she cleared a place for dancing and Mr and Mrs Weasley jumped up, dancing beside Harry and Hermione.

Harry kept careful count this time. He wanted to impress Hermione.

"My goodness, Harry you certainly have gotten better at dancing since the Yule Ball," Hermione commented, watched his feet. "Much better."

Harry looked at her strangely. "How would you know? You didn't dance with me _once_ at the Yule Ball!"

"_You_ didn't ask me," Hermione shot back. "No, I watched you. Parvati was steering the entire time. It was rather amusing to watch."

Harry looked at her, astonished. "You were _watching_ me? But what about Krum?" Secretly, Harry felt his heart warm and he wanted to hug her for saying that.

Hermione thought for a minute. "I suppose that's why he was wondering whether I was in love with you or not. I was watching you to see if you could dance."

"_You_ certainly can," Harry said feverently. Hermione was graceful when she danced. How had he not noticed at the Yule Ball? _I was too busy feeling sorry for myself about Cho and Cedric_, Harry reminded himself, wanting some sort of excuse. This one was not one he would have _liked_ to use, but it was truth.

Ron was glaring at them and Harry decided tha he should probably give Ron a chance. Gently, he brought Hermione to a stop, and (begrudgingly) left his hands from her waist.

"Here, mate. Have a go. If you're no good, which you aren't, then she'll teach you," Harry told him with a wry smile. Ron grinned back, and Harry had to turn away as Ron took Hermione in his arms.

He sat down and took a sip of water. Dancing was harder work that one expects. He drained a glass and was about to go for another, when George stopped him.

"Harry? Hey, I've got to talk to you."

Harry looked at him blankly. What would George want to talk to _him_ about?

"Sure – yeah. What do you need?"

George looked at him. "You're in love with her, aren't you?"

Harry forced himself not to gasp. "Erm," he said, his voice shaking, "sorry, but I don't love your sister anymore, George." There. That ought to do it.

"You know I'm not talking about my sister."

"But I don't -"

"Harry," George said, cutting him off, "don't even start. I've seen the way you look at her. I know that feeling."

Harry, bright red, knew that it would be better if he stopped denying it. Maybe George could help him.

"In fact," George continued, "I used to love her, myself."

Harry nearly fell off his chair.

"_You_ fancied _Hermione_??" he practically yelped.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: Really, I don't know why I bother anymore. Go read Harry Potter if you don't know what I'm talking about. Thank you. **

**Author's note: PLEASE READ THIS: I really want to thank all of you for the positive reaction to the non-Mione thing. Thanks to all of you  Also, thanks to all who reviewed…it means a lot to open my inbox and know that someone enjoys my story. THANKS A WHOLE BUNCH **

Harry gaped at George. He still couldn't believe what George had just said.

"Yep," he said.

"He did," said Fred, just joining them. Harry didn't bother wondering how Fred knew what they were talking about. He had learned to ignore it.

"I did," George confirmed a little pink creeping onto his cheeks.

"I – I…I don't…_whoa_," was all that Harry could say.

"But," continued George, "I stopped."

"When was this?" Harry asked weakly.

"When did he stop, you mean," asked Fred, "or when did he start?"

"Er…both?"

"Well, I stopped in sixth year."

"But that was Yule Ball!" Harry almost yelled.

"Exactly," said Fred and George.

Harry stared at them. "You're not making _any_ sense! How could you stop loving Hermione when she looked the way she did at the Yule Ball?"

George put an arm around Harry. "Don't you see, Harry? I stopped because _you_ noticed her."

Harry gaped at him, more confused than even. "_What_?" he sputtered.

"Listen Harry," Fred said impatiently. "You and George are underdogs when it comes to Hermione, right?"

"Well, yeah, a bit…" Harry said.

"So when I started seeing how you looked at her, I asked Katie out. No offense to Ron, but he and Hermione just aren't going to work out. For one thing, he can't dance like you. For another, he just doesn't _know_ her well enough."

Harry couldn't help but smile as looked up, watching Hermione trying to correct Ron's footing. Ron was becoming increasingly irritated, and Hermione's patience was wearing thin. Finally Ron stomped over.

"Go, mate. You're better at this _dancing_ stuff than I am," he said darkly.

George winked at Harry, then both twins Apparated.

Harry laughed and stepped out onto the dance floor. Hermione smiled up at him as he gently put a hand on her waist, guiding her through the waltz.

"Oh, you're _much_ better at this than Ron, Harry," she said feverently.

Harry spent the next days being alternately irritated to no end (Fred and George) or entirely too occupied with thoughts of Hermione. Between the two, Harry's patience was worn to the point where he would be snapping at innocent bystanders for doing nothing so much as standing. He wasn't getting any sleep…his head was filled with his internal battle, one that resembled very much to the one he'd had about Ginny. Only this time, Harry knew that it was more important.

It was also time to return to Hogwarts. This meant that there was packing to be done, and general chaos ensued. Fred and George had to pack up their new idea's to bring them to their shop, plus Mrs. Weasley had to get Harry, Hermione and Ginny off to school without any major difficulties. Major difficulties being, Harry getting abducted, waking Ron up before lunch, and, well, Mrs. Weasley wasn't altogether worried about Hermione. Nobody ever was.

Harry didn't flirt with her like he had with Ginny – he felt that this was not the way to go. On some higher plane of thinking, the plane whose voice resembled very much Hermione's, Harry knew that he shouldn't do what he had with Ginny. Everyone knew that _that_ hadn't turned out altogether well.

Finally it was time to return to Hogwarts. Harry's eyes had dark rings under them. Though he didn't notice, so did Hermione's.

They traveled back by Floo powder – it was faster and more efficient. The twins had Apparated to the shop earlier that morning, leaving Mrs. Weasley less anxious than she had been. Two down, four to go.

Harry received the familiar sensation when he yelled 'HOGWARTS' as loudly as he could. When he was spit out of the fireplace at the other end, he promptly sneezed four times. Minerva McGonigle didn't even look up.

"They went to the left," she said her eyes on a piece of paper. "And here's your transfiguration homework. You shall redo it, to be handed in tomorrow." She handed him the paper. There were no red marks, making Harry do a double take.

"You must've had a lot on your mind, Mr. Potter," she said briskly. "I presume Miss Granger has informed you of the purpose of her absence?"

Harry nodded, a little taken aback. "Yes, professor."

Professor McGonigle nodded towards the door. Harry knew that it was a dismissal and he left the room, thinking.

"What took you so long, mate?"

"McGonigle," Harry replied.

Ron nodded; speech was not necessary. Then again, it might've been that his mouth was chock-full of chicken. It was, most likely, the latter, seeing as the person in question was Ron.

Hermione shook her head at the two of them. "You know, she's not all that bad."

Ron looked at her. "Hermione! She's a teacher! Of course she's bad!"

Harry agreed with Hermione. "Ron, give it a rest. We both know that you're just retaining an image with this 'I hate teachers' thing."

Hermione beamed. "Thanks, Harry."

Harry flushed, letting her praise sink in. Hermione wasn't as sparing as McGonigle with praise – far from it – but it meant a lot to a person if Hermione Granger praised them.

"Harry! Thanks for backing me up on that one!"

Harry shrugged. McGonigle really _wasn't_ all that bad. She was a good teacher and was doing fairly well with her Headmistress duties, for all Dumbledore had been her predecessor…

Hermione tugged lightly on Harry's sleeve. He looked up, startled. Her slender fingers were warm.

"Time to go. You have a lot of catching up to do, Harry."

Harry rubbed his eyes. "I know," he moaned.

She looked at him and then her eyes softened. "Don't fret – Ron and I will help you."

Harry raised an eyebrow and Hermione laughed.

"All right," she corrected herself," _I'll_ help you."

With that, unable to help himself at that point, Harry grabbed her hand and dragged her towards the common-room. He couldn't wait to get started on his homework.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I really hope that this story doesn't get more than 10 chapters. This writing a disclaimer thing is getting rather irritating. If you don't know what I am talking about, then go read Harry Potter, imagine Harry and Hermione together, THEN come back to my fic. Thank you.**

**Also, thanks to everyone who found the mistake "McGonigle". Neither my beta nor I were sure about it and neither of us had a book on hand… SHAME!!! Anyways, thanks a bunch.**

Harry leant over her, purposely brushing her knee with his hand. Hermione didn't even look up. She was busy concentrating on their Transfiguration essay. Or rather, _Harry's_ Transfiguration essay. Her eyes moved down the page, methodically searching for grammatical mistakes and spelling errors.

Finally she put it down, a look of pure disbelief on her face.

"I don't believe it," said Hermione.

"What don't you believe?" Harry asked, a little nervously. Were his essay-writing skills even worse than before the break? Could that actually be possible?

"I don't believe it," she said again. "This is…amazing."

Harry didn't relax…Hermione had a way of not getting to the point fast enough. She could use words to deceive you.

"It…it is?"

Hermione raised her eyes from the parchment. "One mistake, Harry. One." She looked back down at the paper. "Or two;" and scratched out a word, replacing it with another.

"Really?" said Harry excitedly leaning over to re-read it. It looked fine. He sat back up, pleased with himself.

Hermione jumped up to hug him. _I really should work harder on my schoolwork_, Harry mused, hugging back.

"Now go find Ron and show it off to him. Perhaps he'll try harder!"

"Or perhaps he won't," Harry replied. Hermione laughed.

Lavender chose that moment to come down the stairs wearing so much make-up, Harry thought that she might as well have been computer generated. Hermione grimaced.

"Where are you going, Lavender?" Hermione called.

Lavender giggled. "Out with Dean," she said.

"I wonder why she's wearing so much make-up, then," Hermione murmured under her breath. "You can't see anything in a closet."

Harry choked, then started to laugh, doubling over. Hermione looked rather pleased with herself.

When Harry's laughter finally began to subside, Lavender looked scathingly at the two of them.

"You know," she said haughtily, "I least I'm beautiful enough to _wear_ make-up. That monster you're sitting beside obviously…well, isn't it obvious? She's _ugly_."

Hermione ducked her head. Harry felt anger boiling up inside of his abdomen but he forced himself to keep his voice calm.

"Hermione? Hermione doesn't _need_ to wear make-up. Monster? Ha, that's funny. You're the one who resembles a monster, as you're wearing so much crap on your face that you look computer-generated."

Hermione lifted her head; the tears sparkling in her eyes were of laughter not hurt. Lavender looked utterly bewildered as she had received the first insult on her looks and had been called something – computer gen…gen… -- that she had absolutely not idea what it was. Obviously it hadn't been nice, as Hermione was rolling around laughing.

It was Harry's turn to look pleased with himself. He loved making Hermione laugh and he'd deflected an insult to boot. This really _was_ his day.

"Oh, that was good, Harry. Computer-generated. I was thinking something like that as well, when she walked down."

Harry looked at her and smiled. "You've started getting a sense of humor! Oh, no! The horror!"

Hermione smiled shyly. "Most of the time I can keep things like that inside my head. This time, it just popped out."

"It's a start," Harry told her.

x.x.x

Harry's week continued to improve. With Hermione there, his grades continued to improve. Ron made him laugh. They were the trio again. Harry almost forgot about Ginny. Almost never did she cross his mind, forcing his head to turn at the swish of red. She was merely a minor obsession. He didn't really love her. He knew that for certain.

The week passed smoothly. Ron didn't care (or at least didn't show it) when Harry received an 'E' on his essay. The only way he knew that Ron actually _had_ cared was that he received an 'A' on his next essay. Hermione was proud, but not as proud as when Harry got another 'E'. Ron scowled until lunch time. No, it wasn't that anyone told him that he was great, or anything. It was just, they were serving submarine sandwiches. He cheered up considerably after that.

It was Saturday when the unusual things started happening.

Neville refused to sit anywhere near him, and avoided him like the plague. (So did Dead, but it was rather obvious as to why he and Harry weren't exactly "best mates" at the moment.)

It was Neville that Harry was worried about. The minute Harry walked into a room, if possible, Neville walked straight out.

Finally, Harry cornered him after their Charms lesson.

"Neville is everything alright?" Harry asked, trying to sound accusatory.

"No – I mean, yes – yes everything's fine…"

"Are you sure?" Harry pressed.

"Yes – no, I mean yes. Yes! I am."

"Neville."

Neville wrung his hands together. "Harry, oh Harry I didn't do it on purpose! I swear!"

Harry looked at him strangely. "Didn't do what, Neville?"

Neville cringed. "Oh, you're going to hate me for this, Harry…"


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: Crap. I'm putting this on myself. Shoot – another disclaimer for another chapter. Lovely. I don't feel much like writing this, so – just go back to chapter 4 or something. Either that or use your common sense, something that most humans have, yet fewer and fewer seem to use. Thank you.**

**Also: pstibbons, thank you. You are right – it was Dean, not Dead meant for that one sentence.**

Harry very nearly hexed Neville; in his impatience, he brought his wand swishing towards the floor causing several different colours of sparks exploding from the end. Neville stepped back, all the colour in his cheeks disappearing. He had taken the sparks to be anger, not impatience.

"Neville, I'm really not very good at twenty-questions. Oh – forget it," he said to Neville's confused look. "Will you just tell me what's bothering you? I promise I won't get mad. I swear it."

Neville visibly relaxed. "All right then. See, you know during the break? You were at the Weasley's, right? Right. Well, did you ever notice anyone missing?"

Obviously, Harry was unable to answer. He hadn't bothered about anyone except Hermione during the break. "No," he said bluntly.

Neville had begun to perspire. "Well…while the Weasley's were out walking…see…oh, please don't get mad – well, Ginny took me out a few times. We – we starting dating after the break ended." He said this all very fast and then squeezed his eyes together as though expecting a blow.

What Neville received was certainly a shock to the system, though not a physical blow. Well, that's not entirely true – his eardrums were subjected to some abuse, but Harry hadn't meant for that to happen.

Harry had let a jubilant cry, and pumped a fist in the air. Everyone in the corridor had stopped what they were doing to stare at him. Professor Flitwick bustled past saying, "Five points from Gryffindor. Quiet, Mr. Potter."

"Thanks, professor," Harry said positively grinning at him. Flitwick shook his head but did not stop. "Seventeen-year-olds," he muttered.

Harry turned back to Neville, whose expressing was happiness mixed with fear.

"Are – are you alright, Harry?" he asked.

"Never better, Neville," Harry answered, clapping Neville on the back.

"So…you don't mind that Ginny and I are dating?"

"Not at all," said Harry happily. "In fact, I'm rather pleased."

Neville walked down the hall, still looking happy, but confused. Harry stood there smiling into space. In fact, he was thinking.

_That's Ginny out of the way. Now I just have to worry about Ron…_

**A/n: I know it's short, but you guys seemed rather anxious to learn about Neville. So here it is, and please, please, please review. Thank you:)**


	9. Chapter 9 sorta

**Author's note: And now, all of you hate me because a) this is not a real update and b) there haven't actually BEEN any updates for awhile.**

**As such, I shall clear some things up:**

**First: Yes, I am still writing this story. It is definetly not finished. I was having some trouble with the next ch., so I took a break. **

**Second: I have two new HHR stories on the go. This is the new one: Figure Eights. As I write this, the address has not yet been posted, or I would have put it here. You know what to do – just click on my name, and then on the new story. **

**Enjoy!**


	10. The Actual chapter 9

**Disclaimer: So very, very tired of writing these. (Psst – that's a hint for those of you who have NO idea what I'm talking about…go read ch. 4 Disclaimer, ha – that's prolly the last real one I've written.)**

x.x.x

Harry was fully aware that if Hermione even returned his new feelings, Ron would be a little upset about it. If Ron had been begrudging about granting Harry permission to date his little sister, Harry could only imagine what he'd say about Harry dating Hermione. Ron and Hermione weren't technically going out – Ron didn't own her, or anything. In the past, he'd fancied her, was all. It was just, Harry and Ron's friendship had lasted over six years. Harry was determined that a girl was not going to get in the way of it.

Even if it was a special girl. Even if it was a wonderful girl. Even if it was the most wonderful girl alive, or at least in Harry's eyes.

Even if it was Hermione.

Harry needed to see how much Ron really cared for Hermione and then go from there. Ron was infamous for wearing his heart on his sleeve, but when it came to Hermione, it was harder for Harry to tell. He knew that Ron loved Hermione at least as a sister, and there had been many times lately when Harry had suspected something much, much more.

So, Harry's first mission was to find out how much Ron cared for Hermione. This stage, he knew, would be painful. Ron would no doubt stick up for Hermione and he might go further than that. Harry knew that whatever the case, he had to act indifferently. He had a plan. _I think_, thought Harry.

x.x.x

Harry was about to do something he had never _ever_ thought he would do. He was about to make a deal with Pansy Parkinson.

Malfoy would have been ideal for such a task as Harry wanted fulfilled, but he was not available, obviously. Then again, Hermione had always hated Pansy Parkinson just as much as, or possibly more than, Malfoy. Perhaps she was the best candidate after all.

Since Malfoy's disappearance, Pansy had been depressed, almost inconsolable. (Myrtle felt the same way, but as she was habitually depressed and inconsolable, no one really noticed a difference). Harry figured that Pansy might accept his preposition.

And so he found himself waiting outside the Charms classroom where the 7th year Slytherins were having their lesson. When the door opened, a stream of taunts and insults came whistling by him, but Harry was too busy trying to find Pansy to register what they were saying. She came out after everyone else, her head hanging. She barely looked up at Harry, let alone send an insult his way. _She must've really liked him_, Harry thought, shaking his head. Gathering his wits he reached out a tugged her sleeve. She looked up at him with vacant eyes.

"What?" she snapped, pulling away from him. Harry held fast.

"I need a favour," Harry said, still not letting go of her robes.

The part of Harry that wasn't preoccupied with hope that Pansy Parkinson would say 'yes', wished that he had a camera. The look on her face when he asked her the question was priceless.

"_You_ want _me_ to do you a _favour_?" she sneered with something that looked like the ghost of a smile. "You have _got_ to be joking." But she didn't move. He'd caught her curiosity – that was a good thing.

"Well," said Harry, feeling a little more hopeful, "I wanted to know if you up for some insulting?"

She looked at him incredulously. "_What?_"

"Of -" and here, Harry had to stop, forcing his mouth around the word 'mudbloods'. It tasted like chalk in his mouth, making him spit it out, his mouth unused to the bitter word. He swallowed, said a mental apology to Hermione, and continued.

"Er…yeah, so are you up for it?" he said, not wanting to repeat the word – he'd probably strangle himself if he did.

Pansy considered it. "You mustn't be friends with her anymore. And here we were thinking that you loved her."

Harry paled. "Wh – What?"

Pansy looked intently at him. "My, my, my. You love her, don't you? And the Weasley boy is in your way," she said softly.

Harry was starting to panic. "No, no," he said quickly, "I just -"

Pansy stared at him. "Potter, I may not like you – actually, I rather hate you – and I may loathe the mudblood, but I loved Malfoy," and here she started to waver, "so I guess I could help you. The only reason I'm doing this is to insult her, you know that." Harry nodded quickly.

"Fine," she said coolly. "I guess I'll do it."


	11. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: (no comment)**

x.x.x

Harry walked up the staircase, feeling a little nervous. After Pansy had agreed to help him, he'd said he'd tell her the rest later. His plan was this: Pansy would start a rumour that might be true; something that nobody knew. So that he wouldn't be betraying her, Harry told Pansy to go and see Moaning Myrtle and ask her about Hermione. He was thinking about the time that Hermione had unknowingly turned herself into a cat. If Ron truly cared for Hermione, then he'd stay by her side even though the rumour was true. If not, then Harry might think of telling Ron about his feelings.

The next morning at breakfast, Harry tried not to do anything as Ron was sickly sweet to Hermione. She looked surprised and pleased at the same time. Harry, in an emotion he had hardly experienced in this way, felt a sad twinge of jealousy. He knew that Ron had been more special to her from the fifth year on. He had never known what it was like to have her smile at him not because she was happy, but because she cared about him just a little bit more. He wanted that right now, more than anything.

By lunch the jealousy was still there, a reminder of why he was going to tell Pansy to spread the rumour at dinner that night. By breakfast it would probably be everywhere. He felt guilty, but consoled himself by saying that Hermione was strong. He remembered quite clearly how she had handled herself with the Rita Skeeter rumours; he was certain that she would be alright.

Yet, as he neared the corridor he had told Pansy to meet him at, he felt himself wavering. Was he really about to do this? No. NO. He couldn't do that to Hermione. It would kill her. This was not a fabricated lie of Rita Skeeter's – she couldn't just laugh and say that Rita Skeeter was an idiot. This was true, this was harsh. He couldn't do it, no matter how much he loved her. He would just have to tell Pansy that he'd…that he'd managed to do it on his own. She'd be angry, no doubt, but he could deal with that. He couldn't deal with Hermione being hurt and angry with him.

Heart set, though he knew what the consequences would be, Harry walked through the double doors, through to the chamber to the left of the Great Hall.

He entered and saw Pansy there, her back turned to him. She was laughing, a horrible sound – the sound of one who hasn't laughed in a long time. She turned around and smirked.

"Oh, hello Potter," she sneered. And she stepped away, giving Harry a full view of Hermione, tears running down her cheeks.

And it all came crashing down on him. Pansy had just gone and insulted Hermione, which was the first thing that Harry had said she could do. She hadn't listened to anything he'd said after that. _Oh no. _

And suddenly he was yelling at her. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING? WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? HAVE YOU GONE MAD? HOW _COULD_ YOU?"

Pansy looked at him innocently. "But you told me yesterday to insult, hurt her, something of the sort."

Hermione gave a gasp and recoiled from him. "No," she whimpered, "no."

Harry saw Pansy's smirk and he knew that he never could have trusted her. She was still hurt from the Malfoy thing and she was…well, she was Pansy Parkinson.

Harry put his head in his hands, feeling the full throttle of the irreversible damage Pansy had inflicted. It would probably never be the same between them anymore. _If there is a "we"_.

Pansy suddenly brushed past him saying, "Well, talk to you later, Granger. Have fun with _him_."

Hermione had stopped crying. Her strength was commendable. Harry knew that she was stronger now, after dealing with the ordeal of her parents' death.

"What's going on, Harry? What's wrong? Was she lying to get me riled up against you? What _is_ this? Care to explain?" she said shakily.

"I can't…I don't…really…" Harry tried to explain.

Hermione bit her lip, then brushed past him, using the heel of her hand to wipe away tears. Harry was painfully reminded of the time in their first year when she had brushed past him, also wiping away tears, though that time it had been because of something that Ron had said. And he, Harry, had put his friendship with Ron above her. _How many times have I done that?_ Harry wondered, sadness lacing through is stomach.

He had almost placed his friendship with Ron over his friendship with Hermione. And yet, she was always there, right beside him, fighting alongside him, always on his side. Like in their fourth year when Hermione had stood by side even Ron wouldn't. It was mainly to her credit that he and Ron were still friends.

All the times he'd pushed her away, she was still there. When he'd ever pushed against Ron, he stayed away. Hermione knew that when he did that, that he needed her more than ever.

_What have I done?_

x.x.x

Neither Ron nor Hermione were speaking with him. It was worse than the second year when he'd had both Ron and Hermione on his side. It was worse than fourth year when he'd had Hermione on his side.

He could not say that he'd ever felt so alone.

Ron and Hermione sat together now. Harry sat alone. When he was doing his homework that night he pushed his paper across the table without realizing. It was a habit he'd developed; he'd pass the paper to Hermione, who'd read it over (she'd loosened up considerably that year. She wanted Harry to get good marks for the N.E.W.T.S). He looked up to the empty seat across from him, over to the table at which Hermione was sitting. She was grasping across the table for something that wasn't there; Harry's essay that she would have been correcting.

She looked over to him and he quickly looked away, but he could still feel her eyes on him, most likely thinking something along the same lines as he was. With a pang, Harry was again faced with the notion that they might never do that again. _And it's my entire fault_.

x.x.x

After a week, it became unbearable. He knew that Hermione would be open to listening what had really happened, but he didn't want to tell. That might hurt her more that not knowing. Then again, if this was as painful for her as it was for him, not speaking, then he might tell her.

After another three days, Harry knew that he had to talk to her. He was painfully reminded of every little thing Hermione had ever done for him, and the very few things he'd done in return. He'd taken her for granted; it was easy to do, as she was always by his side. That wasn't going to happen anymore. He wouldn't let himself repeat the same mistake. He was going to tell her. He had to.


	12. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: These never get old, eh? Sorry about the wait…so freaking busy these days. Thanks for my faithful reviewers…I really appreciate it. Your input is really helpful and I thank you for everything. (To actually see a disclaimer, not an authors note pretending to be a disclaimer, go back to early – really early – chapters. Thank you!)**

Harry Potter had decided that there ought to be some kind of rule saying that a boy wasn't physically capable of loving a girl as much as he loved Hermione. But there wasn't, and he loved her more than he'd ever thought possible. It wasn't the "let's kiss for now, worry later" kind of love he'd had with Ginny. This was the kind of thing where he was worried about whether she was okay, had she had a good day, was she happy? He really cared, not only loved. This scared him as much as that he knew that this meant that it was something different, something that would last for a long, long time. There was no question whether they'd stay together, but rather how to start? The only thing he was certain of was that he loved Hermione with his whole core, not only his head and heart.

He had to start somewhere. He figured that he should tell Ron about his feelings and also tell him the truth. Harry had been watching them more closely than ever and the attention that Ron was giving Hermione was merely as though she was a sibling. This could, of course, be an example of Ron being sensitive and not trying anything until Hermione was more emotionally stable. Or, there was option that Harry was hoping on, that Ron really only cared for her like a sister. Yes, Ron was the first step bringing him towards Hermione. He'd talk to Ron first.

x.x.x

The hardest part was actually finding a place where there wouldn't be a few open ears. This was not subject matter that Harry really wanted floating around. But where would that be?

Harry was attaining a four foot radius in the common-room, as everybody had heard about what he had done to Hermione and everyone hated him for it. But four feet, even, was not enough space and privacy. So where else? He did not venture anywhere by the room of requirement anymore, after what happened with Malfoy.

Ron had few weaknesses. Notably, there was the spiders, but apart from that, there was only one real thing that had a real allure for Ron, and that people could use against him.

Food.

The kitchens – it was perfect. Ron would not refuse him, or so he hoped.

But if his plan was so fool-proof, why was approaching Ron so difficult? _Because he hates you_, Harry's brutally honest voice told him. _Because you're human,_ came Hermione's voice from within the depths of his mind. He smiled hearing it, but his smile faded when he remembered that she wasn't speaking to him, and he hadn't heard that voice directed to him in many days. He had to do something about this.

x.x.x

It was late in the Gryffindor common-room. Ron and Harry were some of the last there. Ron had put off his Herbology homework for a week, and was rushing to finish it up before the next day.

"Do you…do you want to see mine?" Harry asked quietly, gathering a scrap of courage. Ron stared at him as though he couldn't quite believe that this was happening and whether he was actually asleep or not. He shook his head slightly, but Harry knew that the shake was not meant as the answer to his question.

Ron gazed at him. "What happened, mate? Because you sure aren't acting like you did what you did on purpose. You've looked depressed for awhile…you didn't tell Parkinson to do that, did you?"

Harry's heart leapt. "It's late. Tomorrow we've got a free period first…come to the kitchens with me and I'll tell you everything. Then you can take a look at my essay for Herbology."

There was a tentative peace. Ron was reserving his judgment for after their talk in the kitchens. Besides…it couldn't hurt, could it? There was food involved, after all.

x.x.x

Harry simultaneously felt as if he had had the best sleep in a long, long time and as if he hadn't slept at all. Lucky for him, Ron liked to sleep in, so Harry could get his head into gear. He needed to know what he was going to say to Ron before he met him in the kitchens.

Harry skipped breakfast, as they were going to the kitchens anyways. He arrived there ten minutes early. His stomach was writhing and Harry wished it would stop. It was very distracting. He sat nervously on the edge of a chair only to jump up a minute later.

Ron was late, as usual, so Harry ended up waiting for twenty minutes. When Ron came in, Harry immediately offered him food. He knew that this talk wasn't going to happen until Ron had some food in him. He was right.

After several cupcakes and a piece of treacle tart (Harry had had some – he wasn't nervous enough not to have his favorite dessert.)

"Alright, mate," said Ron, wiping the last of the confectioners' sugar on his trousers, "what's going on? I don't understand, Harry – you couldn't have done anything to hurt her on _purpose_, because you're too depressed right now for that to be true."

Harry nodded. "You're right. I didn't. Well, sort of…let me explain from the beginning."

And he did. He told Ron everything from when Hermione had first been shut up in the room, which seemed so long ago now. He ended right when Pansy had betrayed him, and then fell silent. The weight on his chest was still there – it would either get better or worse, depending on Ron's verdict.

Ron was silent for a while. Finally he spoke.

"Mate, you must've been pretty thick to believe that _that_ would've worked. How dense can you get?"

Harry laughed a little. "I know, I know. But you must remember all the stupid things that you did when you – liked? – her…" Harry said, knowing that this was the moment of truth.

Ron stared at him. "You know, I always thought that this might happen. You were the hero, and the hero gets the girl, right? That might be why I liked her in the first place. To prove that you couldn't always get everything. And you didn't. So then, I realized that I didn't actually like her; I had just wanted to prove a point. Which is stupid, I know. I suppose I wasn't any better than you, mate."

Harry blew out the breath he hadn't known he was holding.

"And then," Ron continued, "I realized that I wasn't angry if you wanted to date Hermione anymore. I think that I realized that I knew that you and her had always had something that she and I would never have."

The heaviness in Harry's stomach lifted only to come crashing back down, nearly making his knees buckle. _Hermione_. Whether Ron was on his side or not, Hermione still might not forgive him. Because the few facts that she had caught the bad light of Harry's actions.

"So…you're okay with…me and her? If that ever happens…"

Ron nodded, then grinned. "Better her than Ginny."

x.x.x

Whereas Harry's appetite had not returned, Ron's certainly had, and then went upstairs for lunch, during which Ron copied Harry's Herbology essay, something that Hermione would not have approved of.


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: Oh dear. I'm getting rather sick of these. You must be too. **

**AN: I do apologize for the extremely long wait. I have been studying like mad these past few weeks. Now that school is done, and HP 7 is out and read (twice), I write again, and so here we are.**

**PLEASE READ: I recently visited the Stats section of my account. I was incredibly surprised at how many people had me on Alert. I'd like to hear from you! Three quarters of you have never reviewed. Please review -- this is what makes me better, and it tells me what you like about my writing. You have no idea how helpful this is to me. Thank you!**

In three days, Ron had managed to remind Harry about his stupidity over twenty times. This, noting the fact that Harry and Ron weren't speaking in public to keep up an image for Hermione, was an impressive feat. Ron was gloating; he had never done something so ridiculously idiotic, although Ron had a very selective memory. Harry managed a rebuttal to Ron's teasing, reminding his friend about 'Won-Won.' Ron stopped gloating.

He and Ron were trying to figure out a way for Harry and Hermione to talk. Unfortunately the masterminds in question were, well, Harry and Ron – neither of them was terribly romantic and they were both absolutely pathetic when it came to girls.

"Any ideas, mate?"

"None," said Harry gloomily. "You?"

"'Course not. What'd you expect? Wait…I know! You could … no, _I_ could tell her that she's won a…a competition – did you see her essay for McGonagall? It was fantastic – because of that essay and that she was to meet you … in the Forbidden Forest!"

Harry stared at his friend.

"That was the stupidest thing you've come up with and that "sneaking into her dormitory and whisking her away on a broomstick" theory was extremely stupid."

"I didn't think it was that bad, mate!" Ron sulked. Harry looked at him and then they both laughed.

x.x.x

Harry was becoming increasingly agitated. He needed to talk to her, hear her laugh again. But how does one impress Hermione Granger? She was so amazingly fantastic at everything but Quidditch, although this _probably_ had something to do with the number of times Harry had gone tumbling off his broom, falling some hundred feet.

But perhaps in school…if he tried really hard, that might impress her.

But then arose the question: what if he did better at something than _Hermione_ did? She might possibly become angrier with him. That would not do. Harry was running out of ideas. His plans generally involved the invisibility cloak and copious amounts of danger. He was not one for romantic schemes. He needed to talk to someone who knew about such things…

"Well, mate," said George Weasley, "you've gotten yourself into a spot of trouble. You're a git Harry, you know that?"

"Yes, but you're also famous, so everyone loves you," Fred reassured him.

"You don't, however, know a _thing_ about women."

"Your brother has informed me of this," Harry said dryly.

Fred and George hooted with laughter. "Ronnikins? You're pathetic, Harry, but Ron – Ron's just hopeless. We don't even bother trying to help him."

"So what do I do?" Harry asked urgently.

"Well," said Fred, "you've made a real mess of things, but it's Hermione -"

"So if you explain rationally to her what happened she'll probably forgive you," added George.

"And then bring your bonny lass into yonder broom cupboard and snog her there," Fred finished, throwing up his arms as though this was the easiest thing in the world, and why on Earth hadn't Harry thought of it?

"Well," said Harry slowly, "I suppose I could try…"

Fred shook his head. "You disgust me, mate. We give you good, free advice, and all we get is a "suppose I'll try"? Next time you ask it's a sickle every four sentences."

Harry laughed. "All right, then. Thanks." But he wasn't convinced by the Weasleys' advice.

x.x.x

Harry and Ron were once again trying to brainstorm ideas for Harry's eventual confrontation with Hermione. Ron had informed him that no girl would like Fred and George's advice and to forget about it at once. And so they resumed their ponderings.

Ron studied the ceiling. "Well, what about…oh, I know! You know her timetable, right? So, one day – you know that broom cupboard on the way to Transfiguration? – hide in there, and when she walks by grab her and start snogging her. That way, you won't have to explain a thing! It's brilliant!" Ron said jubilantly.

Harry hardly heard the last sentence, he was laughing so hard.

"Ron," he finally managed, gasping, "this is _Hermione Granger_ that we're talking about here."

"Oh yeah…"

Harry couldn't suppress another laugh.

"Well, what do _you_ suggest, Harry?" Ron said, somewhat mutinously.

Harry's laughter died immediately. Ron gestured at him as if to say, well then?

"This is getting ridiculous, and I've run out of ideas. Besides, it's nearly eleven and did _you_ finish that essay for McGonagall?" Ron asked, his tone implying that he would like to copy it, thank you very much.

"Have you even _started_ it?" Harry shot back.

Ron scowled at him. "Since when have I _ever_ done my homework?"

Harry didn't answer. His eyes had gone very wide and he was gripping the arm rest of his chair very tightly.

"Homework! That's it! Ron, you're a genius!" Harry yelled.

**I'm sorry it was so short, but I know exactly what's going to happen next, I only have to write it. Soon, I promise. Then I have an idea for a songfic, and maybe one of those cute things where Harry thinks back through all the years and al of he and Hermione. I love those. ♥ **

**Also…I have read Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. I have concluded … I AM NOT DELUSIONAL! There were enough H/Hr moments in that book for me to start wondering whether JKR is delusional…**


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: I suppose that I ought to write one, as this is the last chapter!! So, here goes: If HP were mine, then Harry and Hermione would be married, have three kids, all of whom would have some sort of hair affliction. And, Pride and Prejudice certainly doesn't belong to me, and if I have to mention the author of that particular classic… **

**A/N: Please, all of you who have me on 'alert' please review. This is the last chapter. I would like to know what you all think. Thank you! **

Harry Potter had an idea. It was a good idea, too. Ron didn't know what it was yet, but by the exclamation of "Homework! That's it," he figured that it would be better than Harry's last.

Presently, Harry was pacing the common-room, tapping his chin with a quill.

"But how?" he kept muttering.

Finally, he looked up with a spark in his eye. "Got it," he said to Ron, who was nearly asleep. Ron woke with a start, and snatched up his wand, pointing it blindly at the ceiling. Harry began to laugh, causing Ron to shake the sleepiness from his head.

"Oh, it's just you, Harry," he mumbled. "Sorry."

"It's alright, mate. Just fine," said Harry with a grin.

He told Ron that he'd tell him the plan in the morning. Ron liked this plan.

x.x.x

The next morning Harry told Ron what the plan would be. Ron didn't understand it, but it had to do with muggle culture, something he was rather oblivious to. Harry sent him off to Hermione with a list of questions he needed to know from her. Ron returned soon after, and Harry, with the results, left for the library in pursuit of a book he hoped he would find.

Ten minutes later, he returned with the book that Madam Pince had found for him and he did something he hadn't done since Hermione had given him "Quidditch Through the Ages".

Harry Potter sat down on the most comfortable chair, and read the entire 300 paged book.

When he reached about ¾ of the way through the book, he found a passage that interested him very much. He marked the page with a smile on his face.

Once he had read the entire book, (it took him a two days), be began to write.

x.x.x

Four days after the initial conception of the plan, Harry and Ron were ready to give it a go. Harry's hands were shaking and his legs felt like jelly.

Finally, Hermione returned from dinner, and sat down at her favorite table to begin her homework. There was a Transfiguration essay that was due the next day, and Hermione was reading over hers, her eyes sweeping over the page.

Harry and Ron waited an hour (the appropriate length of time that Ron usually took before asking Hermione to look over his homework), and by that time Harry had had to sit down, for fear that his legs would cease to support him.

It was time. Ron took the pile of papers that was beside him and Harry nodded at him. Ron made his way over to Hermione and Harry heard him ask, "Hermione would you look over my Transfiguration homework for me?"

Harry saw her nod, and his stomach clenched as she took the papers and began to read. He saw her eyes widen as she read the first sentence, which was evidently not something she was expecting:

_Dear Hermione,_

_Perhaps you have already guessed that this is not Ron's Transfiguration homework. (I suppose the first indication to __that__ was that this is longer than actually necessary. You know as well as I that Ron couldn't be caught dead writing so much for a __homework__ assignment.)_

_I've missed you so much these past few weeks, more than you can imagine, more than I actually thought possible. And I realize your reaction to this is probably "You deserve it – it was all your fault after all"._

_This, I cannot deny, and I won't. I did something that I am not proud of, though I must tell you that my intentions were good. _

_You, I am quite certain, have pinned to me accusations of…well, I'm guessing that you think that I hate you, or something similar; that you never want to hear from me or talk to me ever again, and that I will never be forgiven while you're still alive. _

_But what exactly have I done? I don't think that you know very much other than Pansy's ridiculous exclamation that I asked her to insult you._

_Knowing you, Hermione, you must be wondering a thousand things – like, "Why would he do such a thing? And, "Does he hate me?"_

_Hermione, I could never hate you. And I certainly do not now. In fact, I have never in the seven years of knowing you, ever hated you. Hermione, you mean the world to me, and more. Life without you is something I have never known, because you have always been by my side, even when Ron wasn't, and these past few weeks have been torture for me, worse than the Cruciatus curse, worse than anything I have ever known. Because I never really knew my parents, life without them is mostly normal. Of course I wish I knew them, saw them everyday. But, never living with them in memory, I cannot say that I actually miss them like I've missed you these past few weeks. I don't know if that makes any sense, but knowing you, you'll understand what I'm trying to say. You always understood me, maybe even more than I could understand myself. _

_I hope that this answer's your second question. As for the first – why would I do something like that? – I have an answer, and please read through all of this before making any judgements of me. _

_Hermione, I don't __think__ I love you._

_I know so. _

_I guess I should start from the beginning, it being out first year. Do you remember? We didn't get along until the troll. You lied brilliantly – to a __teacher!__ - to save Ron and me from getting in trouble, knowing full well that you yourself could have gotten a detention. From then on, I knew that you were special. And when you helped down on the third-floor corridor? I couldn't have done it without you. And the hug that you gave me before I went into the chamber with Voldemort? I was eleven back then, and it was a little awkward for me, but you'll never know how that gave me more love – something I needed to defeat Quirrel._

_Then there was our second year. You never believed for an instant that I was the Heir of Slytherin, and when I spoke Parseltongue, you didn't get scared, like Ron._

_Then you got Petrified. An appropriate term, because I was petrified when I first saw you in that bed. But you know something? Ron and I were out in the hallway one day, out of class, and McGonagall found us. I told her that we wanted to see you, as an excuse._

_She believed me when I said that. You must realize how much she knew I cared about you, even back then, to believe such a thing._

_Of course, you had already figured everything out; that day we went to see you as an excuse, we found the paper in your hand. You did it, Hermione, not Ron and me._

_And when you came back, screaming "You solved it! You solved it!" I swear that was one of the happiest moments of my life. Seeing you alive and well again…I can hardly explain the feeling. _

_After that, we stumbled into our third year, better friends than before. Most of the year you were trying to swallow all your extra classes and Ron and I weren't much help. And when you were concerned only of my safety, you told McGonagall about the Firebolt, I just got angry and I didn't consider how __you__ were feeling: scared for me. I never told you this, but Hagrid was the one who told Ron and me to smarten up. He said that you had your heart in the right place. And you did, and I felt awful about it. _

_Of course there was the Time-Turner episode. You and me. Not for the first time, I __needed__ you. You saved my godfather, who would never have tasted freedom without you._

_And then our fourth year. The Tri-Wizard Tournament, Krum, the Tasks, Cedric, the graveyard. I like to think that you're a large part of the reason why I lived through those three tasks. You were the one who taught me the summoning charm; you were the one who stayed up so late helping me prepare all those jinxes, curses, charms, and counter-spells for the Third Task. And you were the one who stood by me when Ron would not, when everyone accused me of entering. You came with that stack of toast and went of a walk with me. You have no idea how much that meant to me. And when you just brushed off Rita Skeeter's accusations (better than I ever did), I admired you so much._

_The Yule Ball. I fancied Cho, you'll remember, and was watching her before the ceremonial dance. She looked stunning._

_But you? You looked like a girl I might've been able to dream up once, but nothing human had ever really come close. You were nearly in tears later that night, angry that Ron had not noticed you as a girl in nearly four years. _

_I noticed. _

_And then there was the Third Task. I'm not going to talk about this for long; you know that I really don't like talking about it. But when I got back from the graveyard, your first worry was me, not Krum, even though you were together, not even Cedric, who had…you know._

_And for the first time I knew what it was like to be kissed by you. That kiss was one of the few things that kept me thinking of you without bitterness, because of the lack of letters before fifth year. _

_Fifth year. To begin with, I need to apologize to you. I snapped at you, I raged at you, yelled and screamed at you – and all you ever did was help me, console me, steady me. I am so sorry for all the times I burst out at you, when, really, I had no grounds of doing it. Like the DA. I owe that particular success all to you, even though I yelled at you when you reminded me of everything I had ever done._

_And then there was the Department of Mysteries. First of all, you saved my life by improvising with Umbridge and bringing her into the Forest, to Grawp and the centaurs._

_But that night…something else happened. I haven't told anyone. Neville is the only one who knows, but Neville would never tell. _

_When you were hit with Dolohov's curse, you fell. Hermione, I thought you'd died, and I'd never been so scared in my life. I couldn't look at you, I was so afraid. In the end, Neville had to check for a pulse because I couldn't do it. I wasn't strong enough to even consider the possibility of your death. _

_So I suppose that this is when I realized I liked you. A lot. A painful reminder that I needed to cherish the time I had with you. Which, me being a git, I didn't really, not till this year when you locked yourself in that room._

_I'm getting ahead of myself here. _

_Sixth year. Right from the start I knew that you cared about the prophecy. I was afraid that you and Ron would think that I was different somehow, after I told you about it. But you didn't. You took it, processed it, even though I know that it terrified you. I can't thank you enough for that._

_There was the mess with Ron. I'm not going to talk about this for long either, because I know you'd rather I didn't. Do you remember that day when Ron gave himself that handlebar moustache? And then he laughed at you? Finally, for the first time, I put your needs ahead of his, and I went to you instead. I wish I had done that earlier at the Yule Ball. _

_With all this, how could you __not__ expect me to fall in love with you? You've always been there, and I don't think that I can imagine you not being there. _

_And I thought, maybe, that you felt something for me, too, especially after those times at the Burrow this year._

_I'm not going to say, "It's alright if you don't love me," because it won't be. I will go back to being just your friend because I miss that terribly, but I need you to know my actual feelings. _

_All this being said, I still need to explain to you what happened with your best mate Pansy Parkinson. _

_Hermione, this was all done just so I could see whether Ron actually loved you. You're going to read these next sentences and think, "Harry wasn't __that__ thick, was he?" _

_Like I said before, I wanted to know whether Ron loved you or not. I didn't just ask him, because Ron can be so temperamental. I didn't know how he'd take the news._

_So I struck up a deal with Pansy Parkinson. I told her to go to Moaning Myrtle and ask about your second year, and then tell everybody about it. She knew it had something to do with an insult. She also guessed right away that I loved you, which was a bit odd, but for some strange reason, she agreed to help me._

_I thought that if Ron really loved you, he'd go against his nature and not laugh at you when it got out that you'd made a mistake with the Polyjuice Potion. (Look, I __know__ it was stupid, you don't have to remind me…) _

_Apparently, all that got through Pansy's thick skull was "insult her". I guess that that's what she was doing when I found you._

_I need to tell you that I was going to meet her in that room to call the entire thing off. I realized that I was being stupid and just needed to talk to Ron. _

_But Pansy, the idiot, went right ahead and insulted you._

_Yes, that's the entire story. Ridiculous, I know. But you must know that it was all done for you. _

_Maybe you've already guessed that this letter has something to do with the questions the Ron asked you. You told him that "Pride and Prejudice" was your favorite muggle romance story. Do you know what I did? I read the book! I did. And you know what else? It was actually pretty decent. _

_Anyways, I got the idea for this letter from the one that Mr. Darcy wrote Elizabeth telling her the story of the accusations she had pinned to him, as you'd pinned to me, no doubt._

_I'm finished here, and I'm only waiting for your reaction. If I was true to Mr. Darcy's letter I should end it with "God Bless," but I don't think I will. _

_I will end it like this:_

_Love,_

_Harry._

Hermione's eyes stopped at the last line, and she simply gazed at it for several minutes. When she looked up her face was expressionless as she searched the room for Harry. She spotted him, biting his lip, in the corner, his expression hopeful but anxious.

Hermione eased herself out from behind the table. For a moment she stood there, expression torn.

Suddenly she grinned and dashed over to Harry, throwing her arms around him.

"I'd only hoped…"she whispered. Harry grinned and pressed her more firmly against him. He tried to ignore the fact that the common-room was silent, but was a little unsuccessful. Both turned to face everyone else. They all had their eyes trained on a spot just above Harry and Hermione's heads.

Ron, with an impish grin, his wand pointed, had conjured up a sprig of mistletoe.

Hermione started to laugh. "You're a little late, Ron."

Ron said nothing, refraining from breaking the silence that had fallen.

Harry felt Hermione's shy smile on him and he turned to face her. _Here goes nothing_, he thought.

He pressed his mouth over hers. Bubbles of happiness seemed to engulf him, reminding him of a glass of champagne. Breaking apart, they turned around once more.

It was still silent until one word made its way to Harry and Hermione.

"_Finally,_" said Neville, rolling his eyes.

**Well, there it is, folks! Hope you enjoyed my writing – please review, it IS my last chapter after all…**

**Thanks to all who reviewed – I really, really appreciate it!**


	15. Um

**Author's Note: Okay, I'm really really sorry about this. NO, this isn't an epilogue. And it's not another chapter that I "accidentally" forgot to post. **

**I thought that maybe if you like this story, you might like my new one, called the "After Living."**

**Bear with me, I know it isn't the most exciting prologue ever, but I had to get the technicalities out of the way, so you'd understand the story. I am working on this every day, so it will be up soon. **

**Promise!**

**Anyways, I hope you like the new one….ENJOY **


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